One Murder, Two Deaths
by dragon-chan2
Summary: Chapter 6... finally. Nagi remembers Omi. He's starting to scare me...
1. The Perfect Meeting

1 The Perfect Meeting  
  
The wind whipped around the streets of Tokyo that day. It lifted hats from their owner's heads in the business district and turned ladies' umbrellas inside out in the shopping centers. It swirled through the gutters in the slums, making miniature cyclones of old paper scraps and cigarette butts. And in one not-so-distinctive section of the city, it deposited a rather unremarkable booklet at the feet of a rather ordinary teenage boy. If the slim pamphlet had been blessed suddenly with the gift of sight, it would not have wondered at the view of the young boy. He, looked, in fact, very like all the other fifteen-year-old boys in the various schools through the district. He wore a drab school uniform that was clean but slightly wrinkled. His eyes matched the dark brown hair that fell slightly below his ears. He was neither short nor tall, not a bishounen, but not ugly either. His voice was as generic as the rest of him. His only talent, one would have thought, was that rare ability to blend into the background just enough to be overlooked, but not enough to be pitied. Even his age was unremarkable, old enough that he could wander through the streets without being stopped, but young enough that he was not constantly irked with solicitations for whorehouses.  
  
But the pamphlet did not have the gift of sight, nor the capacity to know when it was touched. It did not, therefore, notice when the young boy reached down past his slightly scuffed right loafer to pick it up. Someone else, however, did observe him.  
  
"Hey! Excuse me! You! In the uniform!"  
  
The boy looked over first his right shoulder, then his left. There was no one on the street but him—an eerie experience in itself, for Tokyo was a city that never rested. The ghostly feeling was enhanced, however, by the nagging suspicion that, since he and the stranger were the only ones on the street, he must be the one the young man was trying to talk to.  
  
As these deductions finished racing through his brain, he realized that he was still bending over, his fingertips hovering a fraction of an inch over the booklet. He quickly straightened, self consciously brushing dust from his hands.  
  
Quietly, in case it should turn out that the stranger had been addressing someone else, he replied. "Yes?"  
  
The young man smiled easily, white teeth flashing briefly over his light skin. He was one of those classic blue-eyed blonds who is common in northern climates but appears slightly out of place among the darker-haired Japanese.  
  
"I think you've got something of mine…"  
  
Something of his? The young boy's mind raced, trying to figure out what this cryptic remark meant. Was he being accused of theft? The possibilities ran through his mind like water, but it was so hard to concentrate on any of them while the clear blue eyes were locked on his. The idea of simply losing himself in the cool depths of the stranger's eyes was momentarily much more appealing.  
  
The boy was jolted out of his reverie by a gentle touch on his shoulder. Instinctively, he shied away from the mild contact. The stranger raised his hands in a gesture of peace.  
  
"Sorry! I wasn't trying to scare you or anything… you just sorta spaced out for a second. I called you, but you didn't seem to hear me… are you okay?"  
  
The boy shook himself mentally. "I'm fine" he answered quickly, then realized he sounded irritated. He softened his words with a quiet "thank you".  
  
The stranger grinned. "No problem! But hey, do you think you could hand me that sketchbook? By your foot?"  
  
The words ran through the boy's brain like honey on a winter's day. Ah, he just wanted the booklet. Nothing had been stolen, no accusations. Just a request to give him the… sketchbook, apparently. Well, no problem with that. He could just hand him the book, smile politely, and walk away. No difficult interaction necessary, unlike a few past situations, wherein he had been forced to attempt friendly chatter. Oddly enough, though, as he bent again to recover the book and delivered it to its owner, he felt a few words fly unbidden out of his mouth. "A sketchbook? Do you draw?"  
  
The stranger smiled again… the boy noticed absently that he seemed to do a lot of that. "A little… I'm not very good at it, though. Do you?"  
  
"Yes… I'm not very good either, though, but I enjoy it." There, that was enough information for politeness' sake. Now he could make a civil exit and escape any more fake interest. Oddly enough, though, it wasn't too hard to feign interest in the conversation. As he mused over this revelation, he heard the other man clear his throat to speak.  
  
"I know this is terribly rude, but do you think I could ask you a question about a drawing? I can't get it to come out quite right, and it's really irritating me. I thought you might be able to help?"  
  
The boy ran through his mental list of polite refusals and ready excuses, as was his habit whenever something was requested of him. Which one would fit this situation? But even as a few plausible ones ran through his mind, he knew very well what his answer would be. It was not surprising, then, when this time he agreed to look at the sketch. He did shock himself slightly, though, by offering a shy, tentative smile to match the agreement.  
  
The other's grin widened, if that was even possible. "Thanks a lot! I just can't get it right…"  
  
The boy looked at the picture and his eyes widened. How very odd… he began rummaging in his book bag, without a word to his companion. He shoved books and papers aside impatiently until he found the one item he'd been searching for. With a gentle reverence most saved for crown jewels, he displayed a scrap of paper to the other man. Both looked from one sketch to the other, shock apparent on their faces. The drawings were identical. Two rough sketches of the same landscape, a quiet pond marred only by a few ripples cascading from a pebble. Water lilies were scattered in a careless and yet perfect pattern across the calm surface. The serenity of the picture was somehow enhanced by the should-be-ominous thunderheads gathering in the clear sky and their twins in the water beneath.  
  
The two tore their eyes from the sketches at exactly the same time, and cerulean blue met chocolate, as four eyes met, clashed briefly, and then seemed to melt and become something greater than before. It was like nothing the boy had ever known. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could begin.  
  
"Did you…"  
  
"At the park?"  
  
"The green bench?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Their eyes met again, and the boy saw his own emotions play across the other's face like a living, breathing, beautifully unique mirror.  
  
Much to his surprise, this time he was the one to break the silence.  
  
"That's… odd. I wouldn't have thought anyone else would draw that. It seemed… unique. A personal sort of thing."  
  
The stranger nodded. "It was the same for me…"  
  
They looked deep into each other's eyes. It seemed as though neither of them moved, but suddenly there was no space between them. Suddenly their lips were touching, and suddenly, though neither of them remembered moving, they were melting into each other's arms. It was so perfect that neither stopped to consider the situation. In normal circumstances, the boy would be appalled at the thought of kissing a complete stranger, who was, to make it even more horrifying, a MAN. But these were not normal circumstances… not at all.  
  
The boy did not know how long they sat on the bench. Long enough for it to be warm under his body, apparently, though it seemed as though no time had passed. They departed from their trance slowly, coming to realize that it was growing dark, not to mention quite cold. They rose from the bench as one, hands clasped together, not desperately or hungrily, but gently. The other man's touch was as soft as the wing of a butterfly. As they strolled off together, the boy knew that, at last, he had found the perfect person. At last, he was whole. Nothing could ever separate them.  
  
***********************************************  
  
The same boy smiled bitterly and added a few lines to the top of the e-mail message before sending it and closing his laptop. Somewhere that did not exist in physical space, the story waited for Tsukiyono Omi to retrieve it from his inbox. Waited for his eyes to brighten as he saw the message from his lover. Waited for him to read the short introduction—Omi, this is how our first meeting should have been. Love, Nagi. —before clicking on the "Download Attachment" button, then sending an enthusiastic reply that would chide Nagi for his description of himself.  
  
Somewhere that did not exist, the message waited patiently for the time when Omi would read it. It did not know that it was waiting in vain. It did not know that it would wait for thirty-seven days before the time limit expired and the e-mail account was deleted. But Naoe Nagi knew this would happen. He also knew why. Omi would never be able to download that file, because Omi was dead.  
  
One more tear slid softly down the boy's smooth cheek, falling off the tip of his chin to join the thousands of others that had already been shed. Nagi shut his eyes. He might as well be dead too.  
  
A/N Wow, that was rather depressing, ne? Should I continue? Should I throw my keyboard in the sea? Feedback, onegai! 


	2. A single tear

Nagi watched the single tear slide over velvety smooth skin and tumble downwards. It was outlined perfectly against the floor for a split second before it touched the plush hotel carpeting and was obliterated. It may as well never have existed. Nobody but Nagi would ever know that that single tear had fallen. It would leave no trace.  
  
Nagi reflected quietly that he could do the same. Simply slide gently across the edge of life, fall briefly, an instant of exploding pain, so powerful as to be beautiful and terrible at the same time, then...  
  
What then? Nagi doubted that the bible-toting evangelists were correct in their self-righteous ideas of heaven and hell. It was much too perfect, too clear-cut. God would just separate people into two lines, good on the right and evil one the left. But nobody could ever be purely good. Nobody was perfect, everyone agreed. So there was some delicate balance, apparently. Perhaps your good deeds and bad deeds were weighed against each other, and if the ratio was sufficient, you were admitted to heaven. It wouldn't be, then, an issue of being "good", but one of being "good enough". Was all of life, then, all of your deeds, simply a running tally? Help an old lady across the street and gain two points. Under tip the waiter, lose a point. Everything you had ever done reduced to a numerical value. The prospect was not a very attractive one...  
  
Nagi was much more attracted to the Buddhist ideals of karma and reincarnation. Those were more satisfying. If you fucked up one life, you could try again in the next, and so on until you finally managed to get it right. It was a pleasant idea, indeed. There could be no failure, simply trial after trial with no retribution until...  
  
Until what? What should happen if you finally did get it right? Finally lived a perfect life? What then? Was it all over? Did you go to paradise, where you spent the rest of eternity drinking fine wine and getting pleasantly drunk without all the unpleasant after-effects? That became a little too perfect...  
  
The boy stared into a mirror hung on the wall. Another tear fell slowly down his porcelain skin. Too perfect, indeed. And what made him believe that he could ever deserve such perfection? It was a nice thought, but impossible. It was much more likely that after life, there was simply death. It would be like sleeping and never waking, never dreaming. It would be nothing. And nothing was beginning to seem more attractive with every tick of the clock on the mantelpiece.  
  
Nagi surveyed the room. It was a classic hotel room, though perhaps a bit more expensive than most. The wood floors were highly polished and dotted with thick plush rugs to warm pampered feet. The overstuffed chairs were large enough to sink into and lose an afternoon with a good book. The bathroom fixtures gleamed in the tastefully soft lighting. There were a few generic hotel-type paintings arranged carefully on the walls. A fire danced invitingly on the other side of the room. Numbly, Nagi crossed the floor, his feet making hardly a sound on the thick carpets. He sat down gently on the edge of a mahogany chair and stared into the flames.  
  
It was a fake gas fire. The flames did not flicker merrily. They roared from the opening in the pipe, lapping around plastic logs they would never char. Nagi was hypnotized by the blaze. He leaned closer to the flames, only backing away when he smelled the acrid odor of burning hair. His eyes began to water uncontrollably. He stood abruptly, knocking the chair over in his haste. He glanced wildly about the suite. The luxuries that had seemed so indulgent a moment ago now disgusted him. The bedcovers were white. The towels were white. The carpets were white. The clock on the mantelpiece continued to tick, maddeningly slow and regular. The floors gleamed. The ticking grew louder. The fire roared. The ticking intensified until it blocked out all other noise. Then, suddenly, there was blessed silence. Nagi smiled gently before toppling to the floor, his only sensation one of a gentle rocking back and forth.  
  
Is Nagi dead? Is the clock a magically ticking demon? Is this author on crack? Find out in the next riveting chapter! 


	3. Show me

Uh, if you're reading this, it means ff.net FINALLY let me upload… I actually finished this a couple weeks ago, but fanfiction.net was being VERY MEAN and wouldn't let me upload it… gomen! ^_^ Enjoy…  
  
  
  
Suddenly, the blackness that enveloped Nagi began to grow lighter around the edges. It swirled into a dizzying dance of black and white, then began to spin faster and faster until Nagi could make out first the slightest tinge of purple, then a bit of blue, next red, until every shade of every color imaginable churned in front of his eyes. His stomach twisted slightly. Some remotely logical part of his mind wondered what was happening. He had fainted before, but he had always woken peacefully, blinking his eyes gently a few times until his vision cleared. What was this whirling kaleidoscope of color that now danced before him?  
  
But even as he pondered his condition, the dizzying spirals slowed down, almost imperceptibly at first, then markedly, until the swirls that had overwhelmed his consciousness finally faded away to nothing and his vision cleared. The moment his vision returned, Nagi wished for the return of the mad swirling. Perhaps this time, it would speed up and lose color until all that would be left would be a black comforter to wrap around himself and he could surrender again to nothingness. He could sleep forever and never have to worry about the thing above him, the thing that was even now raising its hand to hit him. Nagi was prepared for the slap when it came. It connected with his right cheek and sent liquid fire racing through his face. His skin warmed.  
  
Bradley Crawford drew back his hand quickly, as though loathe to remain in contact with Nagi's body any longer than necessary. He stalked out of the room without a word, as always. He usually left Schuldich to do the talking for him. Sure enough, the fiery-haired German sauntered oh-so- casually to Nagi's bedside, pulling up a comfortable chair as he approached. He spoke directly to Nagi's mind, as he was wont to do when the situation was very bad. It wouldn't do to have the neighbors complain of child abuse, now would it? It wasn't as though Schwarz could not take care of any police force foolhardy enough to interfere in their lives, but it was terribly inconvenient. Much easier all around to simply speak mind-to- mind.  
  
/Well, Nagi, I'll start, shall I? Would you like me to take the part of an angry man? I can do that…/ the mental voice took on a harsh tone of rage.  
  
/What the hell do you think you're doing, boy? I ought to take a belt to you and make you remember not to mess with our plans again. Who do you think you are? Do you think you're more important than me? Than Brad? Keep dreaming, boy, because the truth is, you're nothing. You're scum. You're lower than scum. You have no business trying to mess with the plans of people smarter than you. /  
  
/Or, if you wish, it can be the aggrieved father./  
  
/Nagi, what's wrong? After all we've done for you, why would you do such a stupid thing? Now we're going to have to punish you, and we hate to have to do that. However, you leave us no choice…/  
  
Schuldich lit a cigarette, cupping his hands around the flame until the tip began to glow, then placing it between his teeth and continuing.  
  
/So, Nagi, take your pick. I've got a thousand others, and in reality, I don't give a fuck which one I use. Because in reality, I don't care about you. You wanna run off and cry about your Weiss bitch in some hotel somewhere? Fine. You just go ahead and do that. But I promise you; you're the only one crying. Even the rest of the kittens have gotten over him by now. Still, if you want to cry about him, go ahead. It's your life. Just don't let it interfere with your duties as Schwarz./  
  
Nagi blinked. He couldn't comprehend Schuldich's words. Was it possible that he wasn't in trouble? That nobody cared about his relationship with Omi? That he would be allowed to grieve as long as…  
  
But the German smirked as he listened to the young telekinetic's thoughts. He continued his monologue.  
  
/See, Nagi, that's what I would be saying if I were your doting father, or maybe just if I were a decent person. But, unfortunately, I'm neither. And the problem with that heart-warming little statement there is that your life isn't your own. It hasn't been your own since Esset found you. And it's been the property of me and Brad since you joined Schwarz. So there's the little problem with that perfect speech. It requires that there be people involved. And you, as we all know, are not a person. You are a murderer. And you are a servant to Schwarz. Unfortunately, you seem to have forgotten that. Somewhere along the line, you seem to have gotten the idea that you are a person. That you are free to do what you want, that you have the ability to make choices for your own benefit!  
  
This is bad enough, but you also got the idea somewhere that you could fall in love. Now this is almost a laughable proposition. You, Nagi, in love! If you had fallen in love with just anyone, this could have been dealt with easily. We might not even have had to resort to death. However, you weren't satisfied with being in love with just anyone. You had to fall in love with, of all people in the entire world, Omi Tsukiyono!  
  
You can, I'm sure, see why this was unacceptable. We can't have Schwarz dating Weiß. It's simply impossible, as I'm sure you'll agree. You'll understand, then, why we had to take… measures to ensure our safety. This is all perfectly straightforward, right? Nothing too hard to understand. However, you seem to harbor the idea that we have done something wrong in this situation. Something so wrong that you had to run away! Now this was really a very stupid thing to do, Nagi. It will only be harder on you, and it didn't solve a thing. The only way you will get out of Schwarz is when we want you out.  
  
But back to the original issue. You think we've done something wrong, is that it? Tell me, Nagi, what was that, eh? What should we have done differently?/  
  
Nagi stared stonily ahead. He refused to stoop to the other man's level. He would not be trapped into an argument with the German, since there was no way he could win. But though it is entirely possible to stop yourself from saying something aloud, there is really no way to avoid thinking the answer to a question, especially when the question deals with the death of your lover. Immediately, treacherously, his thoughts obeyed the telepath's silent command.  
  
/You killed him. You killed him for no reason but the fact that he was in love./  
  
Schuldich laughed. He did not laugh hysterically, he did not laugh evilly, he simply laughed. As though Nagi had made a rather amusing joke. Nagi hated him all the more for not even making that laugh cruel. Bound in that easy laugh were all of the man's arguments, all of his rebuttals. Bound up in that single expression of emotion was the man's utter disdain towards life. He found no difficulties with murdering an innocent. It was no different from swatting a bug. If it was in the way, squash it. And laugh. Laugh later, as though all the pain in the world meant nothing. And he didn't even bother to make the laugh cruel. Nagi hated him with his entire being. Because he was cruel. Because he had been the one who pulled the trigger and left Omi lying on the shiny black floor bathed in his own blood. Because he laughed.  
  
Schuldich listened to these thoughts run through Nagi's head, and he laughed again. That same easy, innocent laugh.  
  
/But Nagi, I was not the one who killed your boyfriend. That was you. You killed him by loving him. I know it. Brad knows it. Even Omi knew it. It was the last thought that ran through his brain as the life seeped out of him. Isn't that nice? He died thinking of you. Of course, they were not happy thoughts, but still…/  
  
Nagi shut his eyes. He would not listen to this. It was not true. He had not killed Omi. It couldn't be true. Schuldich smiled.  
  
/Shall I show you?/  
  
At last, Nagi spoke. "It is not true. I did not kill him. That was you!"  
  
/So you think, boy. But the rest of the world knows the truth. Would you like to see? Would you like to visit the last moments of your boyfriend's life? Or are you too afraid of what you will find?/  
  
Nagi knew that the last thought was a cheap dare, a clumsy attempt to convince him of something he knew was false. But he knew that Schuldich would show him the thought nonetheless, and as long as he knew it was a deception, he would be able to see it. He would not be fooled. So he gathered his courage and spoke one last time.  
  
"Show me"  
  
Schuldich did not laugh. He simply leaned closer to Nagi and said quietly: "Then let the show begin"  
  
Nagi stared into Schuldich's eyes, afraid despite himself of what he would see.  
  
************************************************  
  
A/N Hey people! *sniff* sorry about the bastardizing of the rest of Schwarz… I don't like it either, but the story has a mind of its own! I also apologize for the shameless cliffhanger… as you may have guessed; the next chapter is an Omi POV. Tell me what you think… feedback makes me very happy! Really, it does… 


	4. I love you...

For an instant, as Nagi stared into the green eyes inches away from his own, he saw nothing but the moss that was Schuldich's soul. He had been something, once, but ever since he had become Schwarz, the moss had begun to grow. It had spread from a miniscule patch over his heart, spread with every kill, with every drop of blood spilled. For every drop of pure red blood there was another patch of dingy green moss. Red and green, flowing to complement each other, flowing to obliterate. Flowing to take away the soul of a man who had once been capable of love, or at least of common decency.  
  
Then the eyes that were tainted with the flowing red and murky green showed a scene Nagi remembered all too well. Red and green. Black and white. Weiß and Schwarz…  
  
********Omi's POV*********  
  
A drop of liquid drips down my cheek. I do not know if it is a drop of blood or a tear. I don't even know if there is a difference anymore. Perhaps tears and blood are the same…  
  
I am sane enough still to know these thoughts are insanity. But still, though I lie here surrounded by an ever-spreading pool of my blood, of my life, that one drop of something on my face seems like the most horrifying thing in the world. I ache to scrape it off my body, to dash my hand across my skin and wipe the liquid away. As though that would make a difference, when I lie here staring at the floor drowning in my own blood. But I am unable to move, unable to make even that simple gesture. I should be in pain as I lie here, but I feel no pain. I feel nothing. Nothing but that blood-tear on my cheek, forcing me into the ground with the weight of all the sins in the world. Suddenly, I realize that it is because of this drop of bloody salty pain that I am unable to move. If I could just wipe it away, I would be able to move. If I could move, I could wipe it away.  
  
Now there is something hovering above me, something huge and blurry. I wonder dimly if it is flying… how else could it be suspended in midair? I try in vain to make my eyes focus, but that stupid tear of blood is weighing them down too. Once the thing speaks, I know what it is. The leader of Schwarz… what was his name? Lobster… crawfish… Crawford! That was it… and his head was flying! How silly… I would have giggled, but that drop of blood-tear was still weighing me down.  
  
That floating head spoke, but it seemed so far away. It was angry with me… it said I had been bad. I had taken something that belonged to it. I couldn't remember what that was exactly. It was so hard to think, that drop must be clouding my mind too. Then the head was joined by another fuzzy blur, and suddenly that drop was gone. But I still couldn't move. Why? The drop was gone…  
  
In an instant of clarity, I realized that I must be dying. The fuzziness was spreading through my body, making it impossible to move, or think, or… I forgot what else. Funny, I always thought that death would be painful. It had always seemed like it when I saw the face of a target, or of a security guard who'd been unlucky enough to be in the way. I'd never known that they weren't in pain, just confused.  
  
I supposed that I should be more stricken by the knowledge that I would die. But it seemed so far away, so distant. Dimly, I wondered about the old superstition that your life flashed by your eyes as you died. My life wouldn't be too interesting to watch… a lot of blood mostly. Mine, my teammates, our enemies, their victims… so much blood. I didn't need to see all the blood. Maybe instead of seeing my whole life, I would only see the part that caused my death. That would be shorter. God wouldn't have to take as much trouble for that, and I knew just where it would start…  
  
It had all began, once upon a time, in a land far away from this one, on a bright summer's day…  
  
I'd been humming happily, arranging a few freesias in a pot. It was a sunny afternoon in July, perfect in every way so far. It was a Sunday, and I was working the afternoon shift in the shop, so I'd been able to sleep in for once. We hadn't had missions for a few days, and I was relaxed, nothing on my mind but the flowers and the song I had stuck in my head. I was ready, therefore, to accept almost anything being a little out of the ordinary. In fact, if Nagi had come up to me then and began talking to me, I would probably have trusted him enough to start up a conversation.  
  
Unfortunately, this was not what Nagi had in mind. He was in a more dramatic mood. The pot in my hands shattered, driving shards of ceramic into my skin as it burst into a thousand fragments. I yelped in surprise and shook my hands, trying futilely to shake off the red-hot needles of pain. When I looked up finally, I saw him leaning against the door of the shop, grinning slightly.  
  
Frantically, I felt in all my apron pockets. No darts. There wasn't even a pair of scissors within arms length. I was alone, utterly defenseless, with a member of a rival assassin group about fifteen feet away. Suddenly, the day didn't seem quite so perfect.  
  
Nagi was looking highly amused at the expression on my face. Maybe it was a little panicked, but in MY opinion, you couldn't really expect me to see the humor in the situation. Instead of immediately flinging me over the edge of a convenient cliff, he began to talk. I'd always loved being played with before I was murdered…  
  
"God, you're paranoid. What makes you think I'm here to kill you? Perhaps I'm just purchasing some flowers. Even cold-blooded murderers need a little sunshine in their lives sometimes!"  
  
I couldn't believe this. Was Nagi actually being… civil? Not to mention humorous… I decided to play along, in any case. After all, didn't exactly have anything to lose.  
  
"Most innocent flower-buyers use the bell on the counter to get the worker's attention. See that? You push the button, and it makes a SOUND. Not only do you not waste energy, but sometimes the florists are actually healthy enough to make your arrangements once they notice you!"  
  
He seemed a little startled by my cooperation. It seemed the Schwarz boy wasn't used to having his victims play with him. His face contorted briefly, then returned to its previously calm demeanor. He grinned.  
  
"You do realize I can kill you right now?"  
  
"Hai." I nodded. He seemed taken aback by my calmness.  
  
"You don't fear death?"  
  
Wordlessly, I shook my head. "It's not that…"  
  
"No? Then why are you so calm?"  
  
"You see, I'm calm because I'm not going to die. You're not going to kill me."  
  
"You seem sure of yourself…"  
  
"I am. If you were going to kill me you would have done so. Besides…" I shrugged. "You don't seem the type of person to show up at someone's door in broad daylight and suddenly decide to kill them. You want something else. I'm not sure what it is, but I know it's not death."  
  
He smirked. "You're bluffing."  
  
"Yes. I am."  
  
Nagi blinked. And then… what did he do after that? I know he didn't kill me… I lived for a while, didn't I? Of course I did… I lived long enough to be dying now. But what did he say next? The clarity of the memory was slipping away, borne on white cloud-soft wings. The fuzziness was back… I was aware again of the blood seeping out of my body. It was odd to think that so much blood could flow from such a small hole…  
  
Transfixed, I stared at the blood trickling still from my shoulder. I realized that I could see the gunshot wound, could see the place where the bullet had entered my body. I watched the blood leave. It didn't flow as smoothly as I had vaguely imagined it would, but trickled in spurts. Like my life had been… spurts of good and spurts of evil. My death passed in the same manner as my life.  
  
It seemed as though I was enveloped in a blanket of warmth. Even the fuzzy feeling faded, until I felt nothing. I whispered softly, so softly that none could have heard me. Ai… shiteru… Nagi…  
  
But suddenly the warmth was gone, and a sliver of ice touched my soul. Why did I love Nagi? It was his fault I was dead, his fault I lay here on this floor with my clothes soaked in blood. His fault…  
  
No! It couldn't be true… my entire being rebelled against the thought. It was not true! Nagi could not have killed me. He loved me!  
  
And yet… and yet. If I had never met Nagi, if we had never fallen in love, if we had never been caught, if I had never known him…  
  
I fought madly against this idea. Madly, frantically, I struggled against it. It was Schwarz's fault!  
  
But Nagi was Schwarz.  
  
It couldn't be his fault. We were in love!  
  
Or were we?  
  
It seemed as though a feather brushed across my cheek. A soft caress, infinitely tender. Then I felt nothing at all. No, untrue. There was something…  
  
I knew it was true. My lips twisted into a sardonic imitation of a smile. Omi Tsukiyono. Age 17. Killed by love.  
  
How perfect. They could etch it on my gravestone. Why not? It would be poetic, something for lovers to ponder as they strolled in the shade of a maple tree planted in the cemetery. They could look at each other, and wonder how love could kill. They would gaze into each other's eyes, and think the foolish tenderness in their heart was true love. They would clasp hands, swinging their arms slightly, and wonder how love could ever kill. They would feel a warm affection spreading through them and they would mistake it for love, and so they would never understand how love could kill. They would never understand how you could love someone and hurt them, even hate them. They would kiss tenderly, and they would never understand the way love and hate seem the same. And they would be happy that way.  
  
I smiled, and I did not fight anymore. He killed me. He loved me. Yes. He did.  
  
Then, truly, there was nothing.  
  
*********************************  
  
And so the vision ended. A trickle of blood ran down Nagi's chin. Absentmindedly, he released his tongue from its captivity between his teeth and wiped the blood off his skin.  
  
Schuldich grinned at him, waiting for a reaction.  
  
"It was you. You put the thought in his mind."  
  
The German didn't deny it. He chuckled and inclined his head toward Nagi, acquiescing.  
  
"Well, yes. That's true. However… he did accept it, you know."  
  
The young boy shook his head.  
  
"No. You put the thought into his head. He was saying that he loved me before you interfered. Stop your fucking games. They don't work with me."  
  
"Of course I nudged him in that direction. You think I'll deny that? But I can't put anything into his mind. You can't make something from nothing. I just gave him a suggestion. You saw him fight it. And you saw him lose. Or win. Whatever. Don't lie to yourself, boy. You killed him."  
  
Nagi didn't respond. He stared at the comforter draped over his frail- seeming body, picking absently at a loose thread. He concentrated on the thread, absorbing his entire being into that one nervous gesture. He'd learned long ago that it was the only way to shut the telepath out. Sure enough, Schuldich shrugged and rose from the chair, moving with all the grace of steel covered in satin.  
  
"But I suppose it doesn't matter if it was you. After all, your LOVER is dead…"  
  
But Nagi did not hear him. He did not hear anything. He slept.  
  
A/N Umm… yeah. Ack, this seemed decent while I was writing it, but when I reread it, I didn't like it as much… sorry about the long time between chapters, I was…. Actually, I have no excuse. I was lazy? But I think I have some ideas for the next chapters… I'll try to update over my spring break. Reviews please… it only takes a minute, and it makes me ridiculously happy… ^_^ Arigato to everyone who's reviewed so far! I love you all!  
  
Koneko Bombay—don't worry, I'm insane too! I'll try to write the next one faster… tell my teachers not to give me any homework over vacation.  
  
Madiha—wait till you see what the rest of Schwarz is like! *evil grin*  
  
Karosai—I like bastardizing people too… definitely more entertaining!  
  
Joy—See, I uploaded another chapter! Aren't you proud of me?? Well, I'm proud of myself. It took awhile, but it's pretty long. And… *evil grin* longer is always better!  
  
Well, I'll stop my inane babbling and go do something… well, if not constructive, then at least DIFFERENT for awhile. 


	5. Where am I?

*waves* Hello everyone! Sorry about the delay between chapters (again, I know). My teachers obviously didn't listen to you, Koneko Bombay! Hm, this chapter is rather different. I have to warn that there will be original characters for most of the rest of the story. I apologize! I always hate original character stories myself…  
  
But it didn't seem very realistic to have Nagi go visit the rest of the world and meet only characters from Weiß and Schwarz, ne? I'll do my best not to fall into the evil original character trap… the things that irritate me most are when people add dozens of them every chapter and give really tedious physical descriptions, etc. I'm going to try to make my characters actual interesting people. Now, I'm not saying I'll SUCCEED… but I'll try ^_^  
  
I do have a solemn promise, though. This will NOT become a self-insert! With VERY few exceptions, those irritate me to no end… and I won't do that to my lovely readers! (even if I am beginning to wonder if I have any… lol)  
  
Well, enough whining, dragon-chan. On with the fic…  
  
  
  
  
  
The sweet perfume of flowers drifted through the air. Nagi turned his face up to the sky, closing his eyes and basking in the warm buttery yellow sunlight. He glanced through the lattice of the bright white gazebo, peering past the strands of honeysuckle that twined up the whitewashed slats leaving dusty yellow pollen and a lingering sweetness in their wake.  
  
He started slightly at the soft sound of footsteps behind him. As most often happens in dreams, he was not the slightest bit inquisitive about how he had come to be in this place. He was there, and that was reason enough to be there. Though he did not know he was dreaming in the strictest of senses, he knew perfectly well that there could be no expectations brought to this place.  
  
It was with no surprise, then, that he ran to meet the figure approaching him. Omi walked a bit faster, smiling softly at the sight of Nagi. His soft hair ruffled slightly in the gentle breeze as he offered the white rose in his hand to Nagi. Nagi reached to take it, but Omi simply shook his head and brought the flower closer to Nagi's face. Smiling in understanding, Nagi tipped his head down a little, inhaling softly, savoring the delicate aroma. Omi brought the flower a little closer to his face, brushing the petals lightly against Nagi's skin. He giggled a little at the tickling, glancing up at his lover's face. Omi simply smiled and leaned a little closer, burying his nose completely in the sweet scent. Suddenly, he pressed the flower hard against Nagi's nose and lifted a soft hand to gently pinch his mouth shut. The petals gave off a slight oily sweetness as he struggled, gasping for breath. They caressed his face tenderly, traveling gently up his nose. A few petals dropped off the stem, twirling their lazy way towards the ground. They dropped gently to the ground, little patches of white on the grass growing between the slats in the floor. As Nagi began to lose consciousness, he saw Omi's still-smiling face leaning over him, placing a sweet, simple kiss on his forehead. His lips trailed softly across Nagi's face, brushing gently across his skin and tracing the delicate curve of his cheekbone. He whispered into Nagi's ear, his soft breath tickling the sensitive hairs on his neck.  
  
"I love you, koi…"  
  
The words floated through the dark and empty room as Nagi opened his eyes, swiping trickles of sweat from his brow. He gasped, gulping in the cool night air in huge breaths, assuring himself that he was not dead. His lungs burned like fire.  
  
Shuddering, he forced himself to breathe slowly, to calm his mind.  
  
'Only a dream, Nagi. Get a hold on yourself'.  
  
Sweating still, he tore off the twisted bedcovers and shifted his weight to look at the digital clock beside his bed. Blinking, he realized that the clock wasn't there. Nagi tried to clear his brain of the last clinging remnants of sleep's hold over him, searching for an explanation. Would someone have come into his room and removed it? It was possible, he supposed…  
  
Possible, but not likely. Brad and Schuldich weren't exactly the type to come into his room and start redecorating while he slept. Nagi tried to brush off the nagging touches of worry at the back of his mind, telling himself that it was only a clock, that it didn't mean anything.  
  
It was reassuring, though, having that clock by his bed. He liked it, liked knowing that it was by his bed as he slept, counting away the minutes and the hours as he lay on the bed unaware of the outside world. It would be there when he woke up, telling him unobtrusively how long he had slept and what the situation was likely to be if someone heard him. It seemed odd to be without it, not to know what time it was and whether Brad would be awake. Besides, what had happened to it? Where had it gone? Things didn't just get up and move away. Someone had to have moved it. Someone had to have gone into his room and taken his clock. What else had they done? What else was missing?  
  
Suddenly, Nagi became wildly impatient with his idle contemplations. He sat up quickly, moving his feet out of their warm haven of blankets, wincing at the anticipated shock of the cold smooth tile of his bedroom floor.  
  
His toes came into contact with a thick plush rug. He froze for an instant as the sensation registered, then jerked his feet back onto the bed. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his heart pounding as a surge of adrenaline surged through his veins. Slowly, he eased his frame off the bed, noticing as he did so that the sheets were softer than the ones he remembered putting on his bed last week. He stumbled across the room, managing to avoid slamming his feet against all but one piece of furniture. Cursing under his breath, he reached the far wall finally and ran a trembling hand over the plaster, searching for a light switch. It wasn't there.  
  
His last doubts vanished. He definitely wasn't in his room. Suddenly a brief, sharp sound pierced the stillness, and the room was flooded with light. Nagi blinked frantically, trying to see through the temporary blindness. His pupils adjusted quickly, and he soon made out the faint impression of a human figure. As the spots covering his vision faded, he saw that the visitor was a small woman with dark brown hair.  
  
She smiled and moved towards him, high heels making no noise on the thick rug. Automatically, Nagi began to back away, searching the unfamiliar ground behind him for obstacles. The woman stopped and held her hands palm up towards Nagi in the classic gesture of peace.  
  
"Hello…" she checked her clipboard "Nagi. My name is Aiko. I'm sure you have a lot of questions right now."  
  
Nagi snorted at the comment. Well, we know who wins the Understatement of the Year award, don't we? He chose not to say anything, though. He'd learned long ago that it didn't pay to speak your mind, especially to strangers.  
  
She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. When he chose not to, she continued almost seamlessly, her too-perfect speech marked by only the slightest hesitation. Nagi watched her brightly painted lips move over brilliantly white teeth as she said something else. Nagi had always wondered how women managed to do anything without smudging their makeup. Somehow it wasn't surprising that this woman could deal with it, though. He couldn't imagine those perfectly white teeth smeared with lipstick. She simply wouldn't allow it to happen.  
  
He brought himself back to the present moment then. She was looking at him a bit oddly. Hm, he must have forgotten to listen again. He tilted his head a little, managing to look apologetic and quizzical at the same time. It worked pretty well on people who didn't know him… they usually ended up feeling sorry for him.  
  
The woman… what was her name? Aiko… Aiko was fooled easily. Her puzzled expression faded, and was replaced by a gentle smile. She repeated her previous statement. Apparently she was one of those people with the rare gift of being able to repeat herself without sounding impatiently condescending. Without the slightest hint of annoyance, she moved on in her little speech.  
  
"Nagi, you are in a place called the Singer Institute for Children and Adolescents."  
  
Well, that name was certainly vague enough. Odd how long it was possible to talk without giving any real information.  
  
"We work to help people who need it. It has come to our attention that you may benefit from some time here. We hope we can help you."  
  
"I'm afraid I must apologize for the unpleasant way in which you awakened. We make every effort to ensure that our visitors are attended to when they wake, but…"  
  
Here she shrugged a little, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled, inviting Nagi to join in with her mild amusement.  
  
"These things do happen. I hope you can forgive us. We will, of course, attempt to facilitate your needs and wishes from this point onwards."  
  
It would be like kicking a puppy to refuse her apology. Nagi inclined his head graciously, dismissing the utter panic he'd felt as a minor mishap. He waited patiently for her to continue, hoping that this time she might accidentally let some actual information slip out. Alas, she was too smart for him.  
  
"Well, I'd better be going now, but I hope I've managed to make you feel a little better. Your Individual Personal Training Coordinator should arrive soon. Until then, simply make yourself comfortable. There's a washroom on your right-hand side and food on your bedside table. I hope to meet with you again soon."  
  
She slipped out of the room before he could respond. His indignant murmur was answered only by the resolute tapping of her shoes on the floor of the hall.  
  
Blinking, Nagi tried to make sense of what had just happened. He realized that he knew absolutely nothing about his situation.  
  
Where the hell was he?  
  
A/N Shameless cliffhanger, I know. Sorry! ^_^  
  
I write faster when I'm encouraged by reviews… *hint hint* 


	6. Living but dead

Nagi stared at the door as it closed, taking with it the last hope, however faint, of an explanation. He looked around him a little nervously, still not quite convinced that nothing would be bursting out of the corner to kill him. The room was as vague as everything about this place. It was fairly simple, in a comfortable way. The floor was, of course, covered with the thick plush carpet that had given him the first clue that he was not in his room. Now that the light was on, he could see that it was the peculiar not-quite-white color that was so popular in hotels and such. There was a bed on one corner, the sheets still hopelessly tangled from his frenzied sleeping. The rest of the furniture was simple enough—a straight-backed wooden chair in front of a simple desk, a dresser, and a bookcase. There was a nightstand by the bed, though no clock adorned its smooth white surface.  
  
The only thing that really stood out about the entire room was the fact that there was nothing to stand out. The furniture was neither cheap nor expensive. Everything was the same nondescript whitish color. And, oddly enough, there were no personal touches whatsoever. No paintings on the walls, no knickknacks scattered idly about, nothing to set anything apart. On closer inspection, Nagi saw that there weren't even any books on the bookshelves. He slid open each dresser drawer in turn. All were empty. There wasn't anything in the drawers of the desk, or on the nightstand. It was almost eerie.  
  
Nagi shivered a little. He'd never been in a room that was so completely anonymous. There was absolutely nothing to distinguish it from anything else. It was more like a factory showroom than anything else… he couldn't imagine that anyone might ever have lived in this pristine place. Too quickly, Nagi finished his inspection of the room. He wandered aimlessly towards the bed, marveling a little at the changeability of the human body. He'd gone from complete panic to utter boredom in a matter of… out of habit, he looked towards where the clock should have been. Of course, it wasn't there. Duh, Nagi. Get a hold on yourself.  
  
He flopped down on the bed, noticing idly as he stared upwards that he couldn't even count ceiling tiles or something. The roof, like the rest of the room, was completely smooth and painted that off-white color. It was really starting to irritate him.  
  
Nagi ran over the details he knew. He remembered going to sleep… Schuldich had given him the—he swallowed hard and forced himself to go on thinking logically—memory of Omi… Omi's death. And then, he'd gone to sleep, and… the dream. He remembered it now… it flooded back instantly, as dreams are so fond of doing when you give them the slightest nudge. But, of course, it was only a dream.  
  
His heart still raced, and his palms felt a bit clammy. Just a dream… but a pretty damn freaky dream!  
  
But back on the subject, Nagi. Stop thinking about Omi… don't think about the way he walks. The way he makes even killing seem beautiful, the age-old dance of predator and prey, bringing down his opponents. They were so weak compared to Omi, so pitifully unequipped to deal with him. He stalked them swiftly, leaping into position, and then letting fly a deadly sharp weapon. They never had a chance. The poison sometimes reached their brains before the nerve impulses bringing news of the pain. They died swiftly. The kill was perfect.  
  
And Omi could make this beautiful. There was no other word for it. It was his art form. The chase, exquisitely brief. The aiming, when the world held its breath and it was impossible to look away from him. Then the flight, the delicious anticipation. And finally the death. Ah, the death… sometimes it was slow, shock registering on the features first, then pain, disbelief, and finally nothing. It was a whirling kaleidoscope of images, a show of the diversity of nature. It was beauty itself, the classic Savage Garden*. Exquisite. Almost delicate. Nothing at all like the rough ways of his teammates. Ken's claws were the worst. Thrusting them straight into the victim's guts, pulling them out with bits of intestines and unnamable body parts trailing from the tips. Yohji's wire, a slow torture. Cutting off the victim's airway and choking him to death. Agonizing. And Aya's katana, almost as bad as the claws. Blood spattering everywhere… in eyes, on clothes, on the walls. All disgusting. There was no beauty, no appreciation of the skill necessary. Of course they were good at it--that was their job. But you couldn't see that. You were too transfixed by the blood flying everywhere, the choking gasps. The beauty was gone, leaving only an ugly stain.  
  
Omi couldn't see this, of course. To him, there was no beauty. He only saw the end result. That was probably his one fault. He didn't appreciate himself enough. Nagi had tried to teach him, to show him the beauty in the process. But he couldn't get past the death. At least, that's what he claimed after it was done. But Nagi knew that Omi enjoyed it while it was happening. Of course he did. He couldn't help it! There was something… fundamental about it. There was nothing but you and the target. You were alone, in a battle that was, clichéd as it may be, to the death. And you won. You always won. You won so often that it was your job to win. You were paid for it.  
  
But of course, it wasn't the money that he did it for. Omi always maintained that he did it for his ideals. He was helping to rid the world of evil and make it safe for the children. He always had been big on the children…  
  
But Nagi knew that Omi was lying. Not consciously, of course. He'd go to his grave… Nagi swallowed and forced himself to hold back the tears that shimmered in front of his eyes. He DID go to his grave swearing that he did it for justice, and for The Good Of The Children. But he was lying, to himself and to everyone else. Only Nagi knew the truth. When you got down to it, Omi enjoyed the killing. He couldn't help but enjoy the killing. It was the ultimate struggle. You could explain it a thousand ways.  
  
The evolutionary perspective—Omi was built to survive, to perpetuate his genes. The thrill of winning the battle was intrinsic. Or the psychological perspective—Freud's concept of thanatos, the innate aggression in all of us. Innumerable justifications. Remarkable how many ways humankind managed to rationalize behaviors they found unacceptable.  
  
Omi, his beautiful Omi. So perfect. His Omi was one of those people who are completely gorgeous. His outer beauty—perfectly creamy skin, crystalline blue eyes, silky sunlight hair. But unlike so many of the blue-eyed blonds, Omi was perfect far below the surface. Those perfect lips seemed always to spill forth a fountain of wit and charm. Omi was usually so happy… he always seemed to be dancing as he moved. He just wasn't like anyone else. Nagi couldn't see why anyone at all would prefer Yohji's oozingly suggestive saunter or Ken's overconfident athletic stride, much less Aya's quick, crisp, and utterly uninviting motions. They were nothing compared to his Omi's movements.  
  
Nagi simply couldn't understand why any of the rabid schoolgirls preferred anyone to his Omi. It was almost insulting, that they should think anyone might compare to him. Of course, it was just as well for the last year or so, because Omi had been his. And Nagi did not like to share…  
  
Yes, Omi had been his. His ever since that fateful day that was the last memory in Omi's mind as he lay there dying on floor that was shiny and slippery with his blood. Nagi remembered that day so well… it had been, as the cliché described so aptly, the first day of the rest of his life.  
  
Gone were the days of aching bitterness, of loneliness and hate. And in their place were sweet kisses and softly whispered words.  
  
Perfection. It was the only way to describe that year. Perfection. Each day had seemed to last an eternity. It had been like heaven.  
  
But that was over. It had been taken from him, snatched away by the smoking barrel of Bradley Crawford's pistol. He could never have that time back.  
  
Looking back at it, Nagi reflected that really, that was the only part of his life that had been worth the title was that one year. He slipped gently under the covers and turned to face the wall. Breathing slowly and evenly, he realized that Brad had killed Naoe Nagi with that gun. Maybe he was still breathing, maybe his heart was still beating. But he was dead, nonetheless.  
  
Nagi let his eyes slide closed, replacing the monotonous off-white with monotonous gray-black. Somewhat remotely, he wondered if he would ever wake up. It didn't seem to matter anymore…  
  
* I am referring to the Savage Garden described in Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, not the band (though the band name came from Anne Rice, so I guess I kind of am… confused!) Anyways, I need to meet more Anne Rice fans, so… the first person that reviews and tells me they recognize the reference gets virtual pocky, k?  
  
A/N: o,o Nagi's really starting to scare me now! Eep!  
  
*rubs eyes* sorry about how long it took, I know! It was even worse than usual! *sniffles* but I have finals and lots of stuff! I'm rather stressed right now… *pouts* I need a hug! v_v  
  
But… have no fear, 'tis nearly summer! Yaaay! I'll write more then, I promise! (except for the two week vacation I'm going on, but… )  
  
R&R like always, please! I live on ramen, long phone conversations, and reviews! (not necessarily in that order) 


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